


Frederick Sable: Auror

by yellownotebook



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-16 07:03:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11248746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellownotebook/pseuds/yellownotebook
Summary: Frederick Sable, an Auror serving beneath Harry Potter, is well-known as being one of the best at cracking the tough cases. When an evil wizard thought long-dead is seen alive and well in muggle England, Sable is the first man put on the case. The stakes are quickly raised, and the man finds himself working a case darker than any previous.





	1. The Notebook

The dim Halifax drive seemed remarkably still on this particular evening. The dry, chill February air snapped coldly against concrete and long-dead vegetation. From the porch of one of the plain but attractive looking houses, a half-mangled wind chime clattered. It seemed to echo it's broken cries only to itself and to the wind, as there did not appear to be a single living creature outside. One after the other, street lamps began suddenly blinking out.

Although at first this seemed to be a series of random blinking lights, perhaps due to faulty wiring or storm activity nearby, they began to slowly begin to follow a pattern. As soon as one light was completely dimmed, it would fire back up - while the next one completely darkened. This followed a straight line path until it reached one street lamp - right in front of a desolate, empty lot. Placed more or less in the middle of the neighborhood, the lot seemed to be the designated place to throw unwanted junk. Old flattened spare tires, empty crisp packets, and abandoned grocery sacks dotted the yard. The lawn had clearly not been attended to for several months before winter, and the once thick luscious coat of grass and growth was now a crystallized, ice-dusted garden. As the light right in front of the lot blinked out, the wind gave a particularly hearty moan.

A small muffled pop sounded out, seeming louder in the silence than it would have otherwise. Along with it, a man suddenly and quite dramatically morphed into existence. Taking a single step to steady himself, Frederick Sable reached out one hand and gently slicked back his hair. Feeling that it was placed back adequately, the man instinctively adjusted his tie. He knew that small details - whether consciously perceived or not - were important in any situation. The way apparition always seemed to slightly dishevel the hair and tie, no matter how hard he worked at it, was always a bothersome element to the otherwise amazing convenience of it.

Sable stood for a second under the powerless street lamp, completely bathed in darkness as his eyes darted around quickly. The street was definitely a lot more calm than it had been just twenty-four hours earlier. The large group of confused muggles in the streets, babbling on about someone they knew nothing about..

The Auror had always felt particularly close with muggles. Something about their naivety and it's corresponding innocence had always resonated with him strongly. The simplicity with which they seemed to lead their lives always seemed to call him. Though he knew it was always important to stay mindful and live in the moment, from time to time he couldn't help but let his mind wander. Imagining himself as a regular guy - a vacuum repairman or a shoe salesman, perhaps - taking the train home from the city after work. Maybe he would have a wife and a young child in this other life, waiting for him at home so that they could eat dinner in front of the television together. Something so remarkably plain had always sounded very comforting to the man. Something so far removed from dark magic and dying children and any of the other recent horrors of the wizarding world.

The man shivered underneath his over-sized coat as his wand slid from his sleeve into his left hand. Pointing it towards the empty lot, he very quietly whispered an incantation into the night.

"Lumos!"

Though it was said softly, it was still said with conviction. Sable had never been one to take magic lightly. No matter how plain the spell, the man _meant_ it whenever he cast one. The magic seemed to respond in kind, as well. The light that escaped from the tip of his wand seemed just a hair more bright - a tad more straight than if he had only mumbled the word.

The silvery blue beam shot forward, illuminating a tiny patch of grass like a small spot light. Sable stepped forward and, staring intently ahead, moved adjusted the light slowly across the grass in front of him.

It wasn't the first time he had forgotten his notes before. He had always been made fun of, both in school and otherwise, for his unbreakable connection with his notebook. When he was young and it was jokingly referred to as his diary by the other students, he had been writing for himself. Just notes on his studies and observations of the world around him. There hadn't even been intentions to go back over these notes later, really. Something inside him just _knew_ that he needed to be recording things.

"Diane is going to kill me." The man muttered to himself, perhaps a little too loudly for the hour. There seemed to be no sign of the tiny notebook anywhere.

In recent years, since beginning his ministry work, his writings had been utilized much more. Diane, an elderly secretary that had been an invaluable underling during his time with the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, was now his dedicated reader. After she had retired, and Sable had been promoted, she had demanded he continue to send her his short hand notes. After some squabbling over clearances at the Ministry - and a great many trials and tribulations for Diane - she was finally granted the privilege to read and archive his thoughts and observations once again. Whenever he finished a notebook, he simply mailed it off to the woman. If work allowed for it, he would take it to her home in London personally and have more than a few cups of coffee with her. From the comfort of her own home, it would take just a few short days before she had taken his short hand notes and turned them into a tirelessly long narration of his life.

He couldn't let this be the first time he permanently lost his notes. He also did not even want to consider where they could be if they had been picked up here, in the middle of this muggle neighborhood. There were many protective charms, of course. Preventative measures just in case such an incident were to occur. Fred had been casting the same spells on all of his notebooks for two decades. He had just never had to put them to the test before.

A large freeze-dried leaf screamed loudly as it was blown across the cement in front of him, almost startling the man for a moment. He sighed quietly and stepped forward towards the empty lot. He had worn his good shoes again. It seemed to Fred that any day he decided to wear his good shoes would almost certainly become a day where he would end up trampling through someones garden, or coming into contact with some misplaced magical creatures manure. It never seemed to fail.

Each step deeper into the yard crackled more frozen grass beneath his feet, all of it overgrown and yellowed and sickly. Sable brought his wand down to angle the light directly in front of his feet as he walked. He was careful to give a quick glance around every few paces. The last thing the man needed was a muggle seeing him. The Obliviators would never forgive him if he were to cause yet another magical mishap in this neighborhood.

Stopping suddenly, Sable smiled to himself brightly. Though he was usually known as a pretty quick-witted and competent wizard, sometimes his common sense simply slipped from his grasp. When it returned though, as it had now, the man seemed endlessly pleased by his own intellect.

"Accio Notebook!"

Instantly, a pile of garbage seemed to vibrate to life about twenty feet ahead of the man. With a tiny shock of white light, an object burst from the pile and flew straight at him. Fred winced and brought his arm up to shield his face. The small detective notebook bounced off his arm and fell flatly to his feet. Sometimes, his excitement could get the better of him when casting spells. In moments like this, it was not surprising for him to accidentally put a little bit _too much_ effort into summoning something. The man was just relieved he hadn't summoned every notebook from every home on the street. That _always_ seemed to cause him problems.

Sable bent down and picked up his notebook. As he slipped it into an inside pocket of his overcoat, he flailed his wand wildly for just a second. The magically conjured light blinked out of existence like he had just removed a battery from a flash light.

A few crunchy paces later, the man was standing at nearly the exact spot he had appeared in just a few moments earlier. Underneath the darkened street lamp, comfortably invisible to the muggle world resting around him. He had a long night of paperwork ahead of him. The bureaucratic technicalities to a long-dead dark lord randomly appearing in muggle territory on a Tuesday night seemed never-ending.

Seemingly effortlessly, Sable plucked a small coffee cup from the air and instantly took a sip. The black coffee made his insides scream - the burning heat traveled smoothly from his mouth down into his throat and then settled, bubbling and acidic, in his stomach. He smiled. He loved the feeling. The simple pleasure he received from this coffee mug was immense. It seemed to be like the enchanted coffee inside - endless, and unable to be poured out anywhere except into himself.

The man took one more quiet look around the drive and then his smile grew. The peacefulness he felt at this moment on this block was exactly what made all of his work as an Auror worth it. Passing his coffee into his right hand as his wand reappeared in his left, the man gave a quick swish and vanished into the night with a small, satisfying pop. The only evidence the wizard had ever been there was a small plume of steam, left behind by his cup of coffee.


	2. The Witness

A loud knock on his office door caused Frederick Sable to leap up with such intensity that he sent most of the contents of his desk flying across the room. He pinched his eyes and blinked a few times before straightening his tie and hair.

"Come in, please."

A lanky, mousy-haired witch slipped into the room nimbly. Her thin arms were wrapped tightly around a mountain of paperwork and photographs, which she laboriously lifted and dropped onto Sable's already-busy desk.

"I'm sorry, they're so heavy." The woman nervously mumbled, pulling her obnoxious powder-blue cardigan tighter around her shoulders. She wore glasses with incredibly thick lenses, and they made her eyes seem tiny and cartoonish. Her skin was a dark, warm brown color and Frederick had always thought she had the potential to be quite pretty - if she would toss aside her loud clothing and gigantic glasses.

"It's okay, Beth. What have we got here? What's all this about?" Sable had to actually dig his coffee cup out from under the growing pile of paperwork on his desk. Normally, he would have been at least slightly annoyed at the disorganized state of things. Today, the small bit of chaos on his desk actually served to distract from far greater - and darker - chaos in the world.

The man stole a quick sip of his coffee before gesturing at the chair across the desk from him.

"Please, sit!"

The woman obliged. As she plopped down in the ancient, cushioned armchair, a large plume of dust shot into the air. Both host and guest stopped moving for a second and watched the cloud gently fall to the ground before continuing.

"Well, Sir, as you know, we didn't get much useful information out of the muggles before we had to - well, we - before the.." The woman stared nervously and seemed to almost tremble slightly as she spoke. Her dark brown eyes never seemed to stop darting around Frederick's face. Analyzing, searching, seemingly begging for any facial response to her words.

"- before the Obliviation." Frederick stated firmly, unsure of why she had avoided the word. "Yes, it _is_ unfortunate."

"Yes. That. Well, we have been contacted by another witness, sir. _A squib_!" Beth face lit up as if she were discussing her favorite film. She had a particular fondness for muggles, as did the Auror in front of her. She had actually followed Frederick, years earlier, when he had transferred from the Office of Muggle Artifacts. She would have liked to remain, but she found many others within the Ministry incredibly hard to work with. She enjoyed the way that her boss had handled her in conversation - gently, but with respect. Many others took advantage of her slight demeanor and used it to their advantage in the work place. Intimidation, threats, speaking loudly - all of it drove the woman absolutely mad.

The Auror Office had scoffed at her transfer request, initially. She had been well-known as the small, sometimes kooky woman to talk to about muggle things. Trying to figure out what a pet rock was for? Beth had owned several. Confused about a particular term the muggle youth had started using? Beth had probably heard of it. Having issues getting information out of a _cell_ -phone? The young man knew everything about _gigabits_ and _wife-eye_. She was known as being very knowledgeable - within her own area of study.

They had been absolutely blown away at the results of her aptitude tests. She quickly proved herself to be one of the most qualified individuals to apply for the program in years. Despite the bookish, silly air that seemed to surround her, she was actually a very capable witch.

"A squib? Really? Why didn't we meet with him that night?" Sable could hardly remember if he had slept at all since that night. No, he realized, probably not more than a couple of hours. Between the interviews, and the searching for evidence, and the losing of that damn notebook..

" _Her_. We didn't meet _her_ that night, because she was not there. She has seen him - it -" The words seemed to smash into each other like a car pileup as Beth clearly did not want to say his name, "She has seen what the muggles saw, but somewhere else. She lives in Bradford. She saw him in Bradford."

The woman closed her mouth tightly, acting as if she had just spoken a swear word in the presence of the Queen.

Francis sat back for a second without speaking, locking eyes with his assistant for a moment to show that he had understood what she said. He placed a single finger to his lips as he considered this turn of events. There was no way that any of these people could have seen Grindelwald, yet all of their stories were consistent. The muggles had had no way of even knowing of the many before they night he came to Halifax.

None of it made any sense. Even if, somehow, Grindelwald had brought himself back from the dead - how likely was it that he did so just to perform magic in front of muggles in Halifax? Or visit a squib in Bradford? Similarly, who would go through all of the trouble to pose as a long-dead dark lord, just to show himself to a bunch of people who did not appreciate his disguise? Frederick took another sip of coffee. He had had many strange cases throughout the years, but never one that seemed both huge and insignificant at the same time like this one did.

"What, exactly, did she see?" Sable looked down at the pile of papers the woman had brought in. He hoped that there was a photograph, or a transcript - a very detailed and thorough description of what this woman had seen. The stuff at the top just seemed to be more of what he had already seen - witness reports from muggles, and photographs of the wind blowing through frozen grass.

"Well, she didn't say. That's the problem, sir. She said she would only tell you - well, you or Mr. Potter." Beth's gaze moved to the floor, as if she had made the absurd request herself. She had taken her wand out and was twirling it anxiously between the fingers of her left hand as she spoke.

"What? Me or - or _Mr. Potter_?" Frederick voice dropped when he spoke Harry's name. Potter was a good man, and a great leader. His ascension to Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been generally regarded as a great choice. It had been just seven months since he had taken over the position. Almost everyone within the department thought very highly of the man, and of course everyone knew that he had more experience than the rest. If anyone knew the dark arts - and how to combat them - it was Harry.

Frederick was a couple of years Harry's junior. Having been at Hogwarts for most of his trials and tribulations, the Auror had nothing but respect for the man. They had even become fairly good friends in their time together in the Auror department. Not the sort of friends that saw each other much on weekends, but they definitely were at ease in each other's company. In his years as an Auror, Sable had proved himself to be one of the most thorough investigators the department had. He had cracked many well-known and high-profile cases while working under Potter, and the man had noticed. They definitely shared a mutual respect.

Why, of all people, would this squib insist upon talking to one of them? Potter, in his move up at the Ministry, was not even doing field work as an Auror any more. Frederick himself was well-known for having cracked a case or two, but he was hardly as well-known as his boss. He did not know why anyone would mention the two of them together.

"Are we sure that this woman is serious? Is she _sane_?" Sable looked back at the Auror-In-Training and somehow it seemed that her anxiety had become contagious. It had been years, yes, but any case that involved Harry Potter directly was definitely a doozy. At best, it would be important. At worst? Important and very, very dangerous.

"Is there any -" Sable prodded the pile of paperwork in front of him with a thin, pale finger, "evidence?"

"Well, sir, no. I brought you the new reports from our field Aurors. They have analyzed the witness interviews and photographs, and have provided an idea of what happened in Halifax." Beth blinked Sable's confusion. To her, apparently, it seemed perfectly normal to bring a pile of unrelated paperwork with important news such as this.

"But, there is one more thing. She says - She says she has something for you." The woman stopped twirling her wand and for a moment, the anxiety seemed to leave her. The air felt a little lighter for a second, as if gravity had let up on it's pull, slightly. She always seemed to have a love of the absolutely absurd.

"She says she has Grindelwalds boot, sir. She says he left his boot in her front yard."


	3. Agnes

It was early evening, but the position of the sun made it look quite a bit later. The title house on Bower street was rickety in and downtrodden. Ancient, white paint peeled from it's sides and the whole thing seemed to be slightly slummed over, like a slowly melting piece of ice cream cake.

Frederick gave the place an uncertain look as he walked up on it. Ever the professional, the man much proffered apparating down the street from his intended destination and walking up on it. Sometimes, this could give someone out minding their own business on an empty block quite the scare. He still found it gave his arrival much more of a law-enforcement touch - as if he had already been in the neighborhood.

The man walked up the first couple of cracked step-stones towards the house. The stepping stones had obviously - at one point or another - been organized in a straight path up to the front door. Years of precipitation and lack of maintenance had turned most the yard into a thick, dark mud. The stones had shifted in the it, and now looked like a spot of cement sprinkles thrown on top of a mud sundae.

He heard no sounds nor saw any signs of life coming from the place. He checked his watching. It was just after four-thirty in the afternoon. The Auror _knew_ he had wasted too much time preparing for this meeting.

Over the course of the last few hours, Frederick and Beth had tore through page after page of books on Grindelwald. They had been seeking any information about his foot wear - a rather odd topic of research, and not one thoroughly explored by many authors.

To Fred, the fact that the woman claimed to be in possession of the dark lord's boot seemed like something that could not be accidental. Whether she herself had made it up - or she had actually found a boot she legitimately believed belonged to the warlock - he did not know. Either way, it felt to him like something he should spend some time looking into before meeting with the woman.

Unfortunately, the Auror had come up with very little. Few authors even spoke about the man's appearance at all, and pictures of his feet were very few and far between. In his research, Fred had been able to confirm only one detail important to his case: Grindelwald had, in fact, wore boots.

The house looked dark - only one dim light seemed to show, as if a candle were light in the room just beyond the front door. On this dreary afternoon, Fred could only imagine how dark the home must be on the inside.

The man gave a slight groan as his missed one of the stepping stones, firmly planting his shoe into a cold patch of mud.

"My new shoes!" He lifted his foot higher than he should have and removed his shoe. Balancing on one foot, the Auror shook the shoe wildly. Small clumps of mud flew from it, some of them actually peppering the house's white paint. Fortunately for him, the dry, cold air had nearly frozen the mud in the yard completely. It would have been much worse in the summer time.

The front door creaked open, and the orange glow of candle light spilled onto the small cement-block deck. The stick-thin frame of an elderly woman stepped into view, behind the glass of the storm door.

"Oh, uhm, Hello, m'am!" Frederick looked down, briefly considering the position he was in, and slowly lowered his shoe-less foot down to the cement stepping stone. The cement felt startlingly cold through his dress sock. At the same time, he lowered his shoe-holding hand to his side. Somehow, standing there with one shoe in his hand felt better as long as he was standing normally.

"My name is Sable. Francis Sable, Auror. I am from the MoM." The man stepped forward and reached out the hand not holding his shoe, smiling brightly.

For a second, the old woman just stared at him silently through the glass door. She wore a dingy-looking pair of gray sweat pants, and a sweatshirt that was a completely different shade of the same color. The shirt was speckled with various stains that Frederick could not identify from his current position. Her white hair was wildly unkempt - seeming to congregate in three distinct tufts. One extended out of the left side of her head, one out of the right, and one stood straight up. Taken together, the woman's head had the shape of a three-pointed star.

After what seemed like an eternity of consideration, the woman opened the glass door with much effort. The door creaked loudly as it was pushed forward, and it's small, gold chain-stop dragged uselessly across the cement, obviously broken.

Without the door's glass to mute her color, the woman looked translucently pale. Fred wondered if there were a vein in her body that was _not_ visible to anyone that looked at her. The stains on her shirt appeared to be of a variety of different colors, some of them simply darkened spots that looked like they were left by grease. Her eyes were a faded color of blue so light that Frederick was not sure if they functioned properly or not.

"I mean, you _are_ the one who contacted the Ministry, are you not? Miss.. erhm.. " The man began fishing through the pockets of his grey trench coat, searching for the bit of paper he had written the woman's name on.

"My name is Agnes Brightly." The words crackled from deep within the old woman's chest, "I contacted the Ministry. It isn't safe out here. We best get inside."

She stepped aside, motioning with one hand to her visitor as she held the door with her other.

"Well, M'am. I think you may be misunderstanding the situation. I am one of the Ministry's _top_ Aurors. We are certainly in no danger here." Frederick's voice struck the authoritative, confident chord of an experienced law enforcement official. He reached forward and gripped the door by it's end, hopping over the last two steps - and accompanying mud - and onto the concrete block that served as the woman's deck.

She did not reply. The old woman let the door fall into her visitor's grip and turned around, leaving him standing awkwardly in her doorway for a moment.

"M'am - Agnes - I suppose we ought to just get into first things first here. I want to know why you placed your call to my department." Sable arranged his face into the most serious that he could muster, "The Ministry does not take too kindly to pranks such as this."

"Pranks?"

The woman spoke loudly as she transitioned from her home's entryway into the room beyond it. The detective followed her quickly and found himself in possibly the most cluttered room he had ever been in before.

Hundreds, if not thousands, of paperback books were towered around them. Nearly every square inch of the carpeted floor was covered in stacks of them. The looked to be mostly old fantasy novels, most of them in some sort of disrepair. Many covers were completely, unread-ably shredded. On the walls, a figurative zoo of ceramic animal decorations ran similarly rampant. All manner of cute - or ugly - kittens, rabbits, squirrels, deer, and birds stared back at the pair of them. There had to be at least three-hundred ceramic eyes looking at them, Frederick guessed.

"Tha' was no prank. Grindelwald was here. Left his boot in tha' front yard. Got stuck in tha' mud." The woman backed up to a dated, mauve-colored reclining chair and practically fell into it. The thing rebounded back a few extra inches, rocking itself back into a stable state slowly.

Agnes reached down next to her chair, behind the closest pile of abused books, and plucked a large black boot off the floor. The loose skin on her upper arm wiggled as her arm began to shake with effort. She barely got the thing up and over herself before she was forced to drop it to the floor, right between the two of them.

The boot clunked as it hit the ground and flopped over onto it's right side. It looked to be fairly old, though many in the wizarding community preferred their clothing this way, so it wasn't particularly unique.

Sable knelt down and picked the thing up gently, as to not disturb any potential clues. He move his left wrist slightly, and his wand slipped from the sleeve of his coat. Wordlessly summoning a small amount of concentrated light from it's tip, the man looked the boot over.

The thing was definitely _very_ old. Aside from this, it appeared to just be an average boot. The man turned it over and held his wand above the bottom of it. He frowned. Right at the heel, someone had deeply carved two letters.

"G.G. That's .. Interesting." Frederick glanced up at the woman and saw that she wasn't paying any attention to him at all. She seemed to have chosen a book at random as was flipping through it's pages much the same way, seeming to hop from one paragraph to one several pages away with no rhyme or reason.

"Agnes. I want you to tell me the truth. Who gave you this?" The Auror slipped his wand away and held on to the boot with two hands, as if it could decide to make a run for it at any moment.

"You see his initials right thar, sir. Gellert Grindelwald. The Dark Lord. He came to see me here, brought his boot. It got stuck in tha' mud." The woman answered him without looking up from her book.

"You called me out here to give me this boot? Why did you insist that it be me - or the other man?" Frederick avoided saying Harry Potter's name, as was common practice in a situation like this. Any mention of his name in front of the wrong people, and you would be stuck talking about the man all day long. The community at large was absolutely fascinated with Potter, and mentioning that you worked with him was something that could absolutely destroy an interview.

"Ta' give you somethin' ... To give you this!" The woman looked up suddenly and Frederick dropped the boot in surprise. Her pale blue eyes were now a shocking, inky black color. The darkness of them grew to encompass the whites of them. It seemed to be fighting to get free of her eye sockets.

The woman's mouth opened and it, too, seemed to be filled with a black smoke - something that was more the absence of color than any one in particular. A dry croak started deep in within her throat and grew in volume until it threatened to burst the Auror's ear drums.

Without ceasing the horrific, croaking roar, the woman flew forward out of her chair. Her arms extended and her fingers bent as if they were claws preparing to strike. Sable pushed his wand forward, placing it between himself and the lunging woman.

_"Stupefy!"  
_

A crimson flash of light exploded from the end of his wand just as the woman was upon him. Her right hand - curled into a gnarled, bone-bending claw shape - caught the edge of Sable's face just in front of his ear. As the woman was lifted off up and blasted backwards, her finger nails dragged forward and tearing into him.

The Auror let out a small cry of pain as his opponent was sent sprawling backwards. An animalistic, pained scream escaped the woman's lips as her body smashed into several towers of books. The towers collapsed, and the stunned woman was nearly completely covered in the pile that the books settled in to.

Frederick reached up and touched his left cheek. He felt the warmth of blood and the brutal sting on a fresh wound. Lightly dragging his fingers across it, the man could feel at least three deep gashes had been left in his face.

Turning his attention back to the now-motionless woman, Sable slashed his wand through the air in her general direction. The pile of books on top of her burst out as if they had been hit by a particularly powerful gust of wind.

"Son of a Banshee!" The man spoke softly to himself as he stepped forward examine the woman.

Almost instantly, the woman's eyes flung open. The blackness from before was gone, but they looked no less eerie. Staring straight ahead with a terrified look, the woman's body lifted off of the ground as if someone had grabbed her by the ribs. Her head fell back and her mouth burst open. A small black object was ejected from it powerfully, smashing into the ceiling and then dropping back onto the woman's chest.

Sable waited silently for a second, taking it all in. He could not hear the woman's breathing. Keeping his wand handy, he stepped forward and kneeled down to her side.

"Agnes!?" The man was concerned for her, but did not risk reaching out to her yet. It had been years since he had seen anything so powerful manifest itself in another human. He did not know if it were some sort of demonic possession, or if they woman was under the influence of some sort of dark magic - what had just happened was many leagues different than anything Frederick had seen before.

The Auror cautiously placed his rest hand just above the woman's face. He felt no air being expelled from her lungs. He quickly checked her pulse, and his fears were confirmed - she was dead.

Sable suddenly realized that this had been a trap. He looked around the room quickly and raised his wand, ready for whatever came next. In moving his arm, he caught a glimpse of the object that had came out of the woman's mouth. Even the highly-experienced Auror was shocked at what he saw. A large black crow - dead, it seemed - was laying against the woman's chest.

For the first time in his entire career, the scene in front of him caused Frederick Sable to vomit.


	4. Sicario Mortem

So many officials were gathered at the house that the ministry was forced to erect tents outside. Two large, purple-and-silver Ministry Of Magic marked tents filled the muddy front yard. Their heavy cloth material was so saturated with spells of stealth and concealment that occasionally even the Ministry themselves would lose track of them, for awhile.

Fred had assured them that he was okay over a dozen times, but he still could not shake the crowd of people that felt like they needed to assist him. Between Beth, the Healers, fellow Aurors, and assorted other ministry officials, he had at least six sets of eyes on him at all time.

He didn't feel so bad, now, for having not seen it coming. The rest of the Aurors and officials had determined the woman had been the victim of some very old, very dark wizardry. An ancient technique even the most seasoned of professional could not specifically identify had been used. A team of Investigation Department wizards had event been sent back to headquarters to review ancient texts, hoping to gain some knowledge of what had occurred.

The woman - Agnes - had been dead for several months. Magic had been used to poorly conceal this fact, and it would likely have been far too noticeable for someone young to have been used in the same way. Her body still lay in the middle of the living room, partially covered by a too-small sheet. Occasionally, a late-arriving official would wander into the room and prod at her feet with their wand for a few moments, before deciding that they couldn't solve the mystery, either.

Just like the scene in Halifax, no nook nor cranny went without being searched. One Magical Law Enforcement official was even tasked with sorting through the woman's many decorations and knick knacks - carefully pulling each ceramic squirrel and broken coo-coo clock from the wall and tapping them vigorously with his wand, quickly reciting all of the appropriate spells, before adding them to a growing pile on the living room floor.

The dead crow just added further confusion to the entire situation . For some reason, they had decided to whisk it away to the Ministry while leaving everything else to be investigated at the scene. It's true connection to the case was uncertain.

"Someone from the Prophet is outside. They are saying that they need to speak to _someone_ soon, or they will be forced to just print the rumors they have heard." Beth appeared more bothered by her own news than any of the rest of them. She raised a shaking hand and adjusted her glasses nervously. The woman wore a dark red cardigan, likely a leftover from her time as a Gryffindor at Hogwarts. Fred had never been able to determine how a woman so scared of her own shadow had been sorted into the house of the brave. Even ++he+++ had been denied entry to Gryffindor, despite his hopes, something that still bothered him as an adult. The young woman ++had+++ shown considerable bravery though, on this day. While attending to her actual job - thoroughly documenting everything she possibly could and making sure that Fred's notes were as well-written as possible - Beth had also taken to acting as a sort of ineffective crowd-control for the home. While actual Ministry officers were busy dealing with evidence and interviews and keeping Muggles from the scene, she had been forced to run off more than a couple of curious wizards looking for a scoop.

"There is nothing to be said right now. Who is it? Pittman?" Sable rolled his eyes. He enjoyed reading the _Prophet_ as much as anyone else, but they had to know that they were getting on the Ministry's bad side with this one. Beth nodded solemnly.

"You tell Pittman that he still owes me for that time I had to help him run the Ghoul out of his attic. Tell him I still know where the Ministry keeps it, and I will not hesitate to give it back to him." Fred seemed to be joking, at first. Beth stared at him for a second, trying to drum up the cheer for a chuckle. It became apparent that he was serious, and the woman turned quickly and marched back towards the door, ever the reliable assistant.

As soon as Beth walked away, the two men standing closest to Fred saw an opportunity. Though she was a reliable member of the Auror department, the woman had not-yet been with them long to here _some_ classified information.

"Potter has been trying to get down here, but the Minister forbids it. Thinks this all was an elaborate set up to get him here. He figures it's some disgruntled Death Eaters trying to get in one last hoorah." Richard Redfield was the younger of the two men. In his first three years in the department, he had captured or killed more dark wizards than many would ever hear of in a lifetime. He had been a Hit Wizard, the highly-trained special forces who were only called upon to capture or kill the worst of the worst. After a severe injury had left him near-death during one such mission, Richard had given up his position on the Hit team. Wanting to settle down and begin a family before losing his life in a duel Wanting to make a few years passed thirty, the man had decided that a less-intense area of Law Enforcement was probably the best way to go.

The other man, Mr. Pike, just stared blankly at the other two for a moment. They were both well-acquainted with his temper, and could already see the tell-tale signs - bulging eyes, reddening face, furrowed brows. He man opened his mouth once, then twice, to try and summon the correct words to speak.

"We do _not_ need to publicly discuss Potter and other ministry officials and their impact on this case. Not right now, probably not ever." Thomas Pike was the head of the Auror department, having replaced outgoing head Harry Potter the previous July. Potter had been promoted to Head Of Department for Magical Law Enforcement, and was the youngest person to have ever held the title. His replacement was nowhere near as well-spoken, nor as well-liked, as he had been. In fact, many of the older members of the department - those that had actually participated in the second wizarding war, and had won it - had resigned from the department when Pike took it over. Though Potter was becoming the boss of their boss, his new position meant that they would rarely see him - while seeing his replacement every single day.

"A New Era Of Peace," the Department's most recent slogan, had also influenced the decision. The recent, relative calm in the wizarding world had shifted much of the focus away from what would formerly be considered "big" threats - dark magic, dark wizards, and the like - and putting it more on to what they considered "realistic" threats - petty crime, theft, magical mismanagement. Now in control of a department that generally loathed him, and tasked with changing their general focus, Pike was left in a horrible position to be dealing with this situation -death, dark magic, and black boots.

"Sable, the Minister was concerned _before_ , when this was an isolated incident involving muggles. This has got everyone breathing down his neck even closer now, and the pressure just keeps on down the line. He's getting on Potter's case, and Potter is getting on my case, and -"

Fred held up one finger as he sipped his coffee to quiet the man. His boss stopped talking, but looked as though doing so may cause his head to explode. There were very few men that could shush Thomas Pike and remain standing with their nose intact. Sable just happened to be one of them. He knew not to push his luck too far with the man, but the whole situation had him on edge, as well.

Pike and Sable had always been polar opposites when it came down to their jobs. Whereas Thomas was a very blunt man, who took his problems head-on, Frederick Sable tended to be more on the reserved side, utilizing violence only when absolutely needed and solving many of his problems through his skills in deductive reasoning. With Harry Potter being a very well-rounded mixture of the two, the trio had enjoyed an unprecedented run of successes during their time together in the Auror department.

"I understand, sir. But I also understand that leaping to a conclusion just to have one will do us no good, either. I have faith that something will come along to ...correct our path." Frederick took another sip of coffee. It, like every sip had had ever taken for the last decade, was incredibly warm. The cup in his hand had been long-ago bewitched. The coffee inside seemed to remain at the same amount and temperature, no matter what. It had taken him several months to perfect he magic - with slight adjustments needed for taste, of course. He considered his own words for a moment. He knew that the other two men would likely roll their eyes. Not many of his colleagues had much faith in the same things he did - his belief system was a hodge-podge of various mystical concepts, ranging in influence from Tibetan monks to ancient Native American Shamans. He had always incorporated his beliefs into his work, they had always served him well. Anyone else that saw even a slight connection between his beliefs and his successes merely attributed this to coincidence - an odd man, with odd beliefs, who was oddly good at his job.

Sable knew that things would become clearer to him in the evening. He had always placed a particular level of focus on to his dreams, especially those that came right in the middle of turmoil. When a case appeared to have no further leads to follow, and every end reached so far had been dead, it was usually the dreams that sparked further success in his investigation. He hoped that tonight would be no different.

"Sable, I know you have very strong beliefs about specific .. _things_. I have always trusted you to make the right decisions on your cases, but this thing is huge. We have got to get a grip on what is actually going on, here. Why people are talking about -" Thomas's voice dropped in volume considerably, "About Grindelwald being back. We can't have this right now. My job has been hard enough lately. We need to stop this, figure out why it has something to do with you and Potter."

"Mr. Sable! We have a problem. Pittman says that he wont have to worry about ghouls if he is homeless and unemployed, said we forced him to do this. He's going to report on the rumors he has." Beth had burst back into the room, red-faced and sweating profusely. It appeared that she had just lost a very loud, very dramatic argument.

"You have got to be kidding me. I'll go talk to a few more _Prophet_ contacts at the Ministry." Redfield seemed quite excited at an opportunity to leave the crime scene, the house, and their conversation behind. Before either of the other men could reply, he had started for the door. After a quick pause to raise the hood of his cloak, the man stepped outside and vanished with a small popping sound.

Just as the young man disappeared into the air, three more popped in existence beneath the tent in the front yard. Frederick recognized the old men as Investigation Department officials, at least one of which had been on the scene earlier today. They all three hurriedly made their way in through the front door, joining the more and more cramped crowd of people inside.

"Mr. Pike, we have found it." The first of the men spoke across the room as they entered. A few of the other men on the scene stopped what they were doing and turned to listen. The investigator glanced around and quickly moved forward to whisper in Thomas' ear.

The head Auror's eyes stared straight forward, remaining on focused on the wall beyond. He did not allow them to betray any of his feelings about what he was being told. In a second, the investigator backed away and rejoined his two colleagues. They stood, silently, as Pike scratched at his chin thoughtfully.

"Sicario Mortem. Interesting.." Thomas did not seem too concerned with his words being heard by the rest of the room. Almost no one else seemed to know the significance of what he had said. The man investigating the knick-knacks, however, clearly did. He gasped loudly, and the glass rabbit in his hand fell to the floor, shattering dramatically.

"What is Sicario Mortem?" Beth asked, glancing from Pike to Sable to the gasping man and then back again.

"A myth. Or it has always been thought of as one," Frederick did not take his eyes off of Thomas' as he spoke. He was hoping that the other man would correct him, laugh at him, tell him that he was mistaken, "It is a powerful piece of dark magic. Used to posses the bodies of the dead, to cast one's own soul into them."

Pike nodded, and began buttoning up his overcoat. If they were absolutely sure about this, he knew, then his own worst fears were nearly confirmed.

"The only wizard to ever master it, rumor has it, was Gellert Grindelwald." Thomas Pike glanced back to Sable one last time, shaking his head, and then began walking towards the front door of the home. He gestured for the investigators to follow him.

Sable watched them go, wordlessly, as his assistant seemed to stare right into his soul. Shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, he realized that he had never considered that the witnesses could have been telling the truth. Maybe they _had_ seen Grindelwald. Maybe the man _was_ back. The Auror gave a slight shiver. He didn't know how any of this could be possible.


	5. Key

Sable was floating, breathlessly, in a green jelly-like substance. It surrounded every part of his body. Whenever he moved, the substance would jiggle and shiver against his skin - but it would not allow him to escape. He seemed to be in some sort of pool - a tired, decrepit stone pool - carved into the ground in someone's yard. He could just barely see the tops of the wrought-iron fence posts as they rose above him.

The man struggled to shift his body, once again accomplishing nothing. He wondered where his wand had gone - and if he could perhaps manage a spell without it's use. He called up thoughts of blasting, breaking, unbinding - letting them fill his mind completely before trying to materialize them in the world around him.

The man could feel the power welling up within him. Using magic without a wand always brought about strange feelings. Whereas the wood and core of the thing would otherwise be the actual conduit between some distant, ethereal plane of existence and our own - without a wand the user's actual body was accomplishing this task. Even with intense concentration and practice, the only spells that could be accomplished using such methods were very simple ones.

When he felt sure that he had summoned up the most strength that he could muster, Frederick pushed the thoughts forward and out of his mind. He concentrated on the jelly-like substance between himself and the open air above the pool, trying to imagine it being ripped apart.

With a loud crackle, a burst of sparks and flame danced across the surface of the stuff. Just a few feet above the Auror, he could see his visualized spell become a reality. The green substance hissed as the energy made contact with it, sending thick puffs of black smoke into the air. The disgusting smell of burning flesh filled the air around the pool.

Frederick remained securely within, however. The spell seemed to have no effect beneath the surface, and he could only watch as it's energy slowly dissipated. He tried, once again, to push against he weight of the ectoplasma around him. It gave a slight wiggle, but otherwise held firm. He was trapped.

The Auror wondered how he was able to breath. The substance seemed to restrict movement completely, and had him otherwise completely sealed beneath it's surface. There did not seem to be any possible way that air could make it's way through such a substance. A large, dead-looking tree hung over the lip of the pool. He could see it's branches moving in the wind, but could not hear any breeze. The sounds from above seemed to be muted, as well.

Something cut through the strangely distant sound of the wind. A voice, ancient and fragile, rolled across the surface of the pool and then settled into it. The Auror could almost feel that words enter his body - they sent a chill down his spine. If there had been any room for it, he was sure that the hair on his arms would have stood straight up.

_"He's after... my... key."_

The words drifted away as quickly as the had came, and the world seemed to sink to a level of silence deeper than Sable had ever heard. He wondered what the voice had meant - was there a _key_ to escaping the pool? Had someone else been trapped in this same position before?

The silence did not last long. Almost as soon as the thought had drifted from his mind, an ear-piercing shriek broke through the world around him. Frederick himself tried to yell out in pain, struggling to try and bring his hands up to cover his ears. His cries made no sound, and his arms made no movement. The scream sounded like something that would come from a dying, tortured animal. The amount of sheer hurt that was projected from it seemed to be impossibly high for a mere sound alone.

The green goop around the man seemed to hear it, as well. The whole block - the entire shape of the large swimming pool - seemed to constrict under the pressure of the scream. It gave off a slight, nervous vibration as it tensed up around the man within it. Frederick's brow furrowed as he felt further pressure to every inch of his body. The stuff seemed to be trying to crush the life out of his body. The intense scream intensified with every few seconds. The Auror's vision blurred and he began to grow dizzy - both from the pressure threatening to pop his body like a grape, and the mindbogglingly loud noise from above. He could feel his consciousness begin to slip from him.

Then, the source of the sound came into view. The upper body of a young man peaked over the edge of the pool. A thinly-built boy of maybe fifteen stared down at Frederick. Even through the sickening green hue of the substance between them, the boy's shockingly blonde hair was obvious. He seemed to be wearing Hogwarts robes, and his thin face was twisted into a horrified expression. Two silver rings stood out brightly on his face, catching the light at just the right angle.

The shriek seemed to be far too loud and piercing to be coming from the boy, but the expression on his face certainly seemed to match it's intensity. Suddenly, the young man's arms reached over the lip of the pool and began clawing at the substance within. Sable could feel it gently wiggle as the boy above tore into it. The stuff was now deep inside of him - his nostrils, ears, and mouth were all filling with it's pressure. He was now unable to blink or even look away from the scene above him, as the green goo pressed so intensely against his eye sockets, pushing his eyes backwards into his face.

Frederick fought, with every ounce of his being, against the substance drowning him. As his consciousness became a slowly tightening dark tunnel, a primal instinct took over and every part of him was active. Sparks sizzled across the surface of the pool as every last bit of his soul went into trying to use magic to fight his way out.

Soon, he could only see the boy screaming directly above him. His struggling began to fade, and he grew to except his impending doom. The Auror began to relax as the green substance and himself ceased to be different entities - becoming one as it burst through every orifice of his body and reconnected with itself within him.

The boy continued to scream.

The alarm clock continued blaring painfully in Sable's ears. His body twitched as if it had been hit with a bolt of lightning and he sat straight up in his bed, moving a hand onto his thumping chest. He was drenched and sweat and realized, suddenly, that he was alive. It had only been a dream.

Nothing about it had been dream-like, however, and he still felt sore in various spots throughout his body where the jelly had pressed against his flesh. Against and into his flesh.

For another moment, the man simply sat straight up in bed and let his thoughts drift back to the dream. The clock continued to roar next to him, but he pushed it's angry whine from his head and tried to focus his thoughts. It had been terrifying, but he needed to make sure he remembered every detail.

The old pool - where was it? What else could he recall about it? A wrought iron fence, bent and rusted. The sky above had been a somber grey color, cloudy - no sun. What else? Sable felt the images quickly fading from his mind as he struggled to stop them. There had been a boy. Screaming. The piercing shriek came back to him and he felt instant pain in the center of his head, hearing it again. The boy - he had been a student at Hogwarts. He could hardly recall more than that. A blonde-haired Hogwarts student had screamed for him.

Suddenly, the man remembered one final detail and everything clicked together for him. He quickly readied himself for work and was off, apparating in the central entrance-area of the building as he did every morning. He did this out of habit - many Ministry officials enjoyed taking a few moments to chat with employees of other departments before heading off to their own floors - and regretted it instantly. As he quickly walked through the crowded room, he received greetings from several of his friends.

Finally, Sable managed to get himself onto a lift and down to the second level. As he emerged, he realized he had almost forgotten his most important routine of the day. With a small popping noise, the man plucked his coffee mug from the air and inhaled a deep, hearty sniff of the brown stuff inside. Satisfied that it was as warm and as strong as ever, he began gulping it down quickly. At this rate, he was already three cups down for the day.

Turning the corner and breezing through the heavy oak doors of the Auror Headquarters, the man found the place nearly completely empty. He was earlier than usual, a quick glance at his watch reminded him, and not at all upset by this. Quickly and quietly he slipped through the room, careful to avoid the occupied cubicles, and ended up at his office on the far side of the room.

Sable had just tapped the door knob with his wand, silently unlocking it, when he was suddenly interrupted.

"Early morning, Sir!? What are we getting into today!?" Beth had appeared behind him. Her own massive, steaming coffee cup was already half-gone and clearly had gotten to her head already.

"I thought we could go over a few more of the Halifax witness reports, perhaps even go over the clues we found there. Have you gotten any more ideas about the boot? I have been researching the thing all morning, and I can't seem to find what brand it is.."

Frederick held up the hand with his coffee in it, extending one finger forward to shush his assistant. He realized that he was starting to make a habit of this gesture, and quickly tucked his finger away as she stopped speaking.

"Beth, do you know where we can find the family photographs we took from Agne's home?" The man popped his office door open and slipped inside, closing it quickly behind Beth as she followed suit. He was usually very open to helping out his fellow Aurors - almost always preferring to leave his door open, to show that he was available. He had no time for distractions this morning.

"W-well yes, but I didn't figure we would need to see them again. I think I have them in my cubicle." Beth locked eyes with her superior and brought her hand up to her glasses. In a second they were in-hand and being nervously wiped down against her maroon cardigan.

"Go get them, please. I think I may have something." Sable slipped his overcoat off of his shoulders and held it out towards the rack next to his desk. The thick, wooden beam bent itself down and out and plucked the coat from his hand. As it returned to a straightened, solid position, Beth quickly darted out of the room to get what he had asked for.

When she returned, Sable was waiting - standing just inside the closed oak door. He moved towards her quickly, grabbing the photos and closing the door as soon as she was barely inside the room.

"Sir, what's this all about? Have you - is this about one of those dreams again!?" Beth's face lit up with excitement as the Auror flipped through the photographs. She had always been intrigued, if not entirely convinced, by her boss's methods. The faces in the pictures smiled back warmly. The woman had apparently had a rather large family - or at least a rather large collection of photographs of _someone's_ family.

"Have we spoken to any of her family?" Sable had lifted one photo from the pile and held it closer to his face, examining it closely.

"Well, yes. I think she has a son with a family that is like us - I mean, magical." Beth's cheeks warmed for a moment. She loved non-magical beings more than most, but still had a hard time wording it when referring to the differences between them and their wizard counterparts. In an eagerness to appear as non judgemental as possible, oftentimes things came out wrong.

"That's great. We are going to need to get ahold of them, quickly. I need all the information we can get on their son. Then I want you to reach out to Hogwarts, and have someone keep an eye on the boy until I arrive." Sable quickly slid the remaining photos into the top drawer of his desk, leaving the one he had picked out separate on the top of it. As he set it down, His assistant could finally see what it was a photo of. A young man - maybe 14 or 15, beaming into the camera from beneath a tree. He had brilliant blonde hair that sort of stuck up all around. In his nose, a pair of tiny, silver rings gleamed in the sunlight. He was wearing his Hogwarts robes, and it appeared that he was posing for school pictures.

" _You_ are going to Hogwarts? When!?" Beth could not completely keep up with the situation. She lifted the photo he had dropped and turned it over in her hands. The boy inside it continued to smile at them, waving occasionally. On the back of the photo, there was a bit of writing. In the shaky, scrawling cursive of an elderly woman, it was a name:

Keegan A. Brightly,

5th year Hufflepuff,

Hogwarts.

Underneath it, someone else's handwriting - much larger, in plain block letters:

with love

\- _Kee_

"Right now." Sable reached towards his coat rack and it bent down and delivered his double-breastedi to himself after he slipped it over his shoulders and pushed both arms into the sleeves, he waved towards a small cabinet behind him. A suitcase - bright purple, with silver stars twinkling across it - burst out of it and flew to his waiting grasp. He stepped passed Beth and opened the door to his office.

"Please, try and get ahold of the family - and Hogwarts, especially - as soon as possible. I'm going to discuss this with Pike, as quickly as I possibly can. Then I will be on my way." Sable paused briefly and looked down at the woman. He realized that, so caught up in the investigation lately, had been very short with her.

"Thank you, Beth. For everything."

She turned and looked up to him, and for a moment it seemed as if they may embrace one another. Her hands continued fumbling the photograph, nervously, as they locked eyes.

A second later, the man disappeared in a twirling of grey overcoat. Beth sighed, continuing to stare at the spot his eyes had been. After a moment of silence, she rolled her eyes and tossed the photograph onto his desk.

"...a right slag, that one."

The woman turned and left, slamming the heavy oak doors behind her.


	6. Under The Black Lake

An early morning chill gripped the Hogwarts grounds as Keegan Brightly made his way to the lake. His knee-high rain boots crunched as he stamped across the frozen ground.

The sun had just started to peak up from the other side of the world - it comforted the boy and almost seemed to warm him, despite the harsh February wind.

No one else seemed to be outside the castle. Keegan was fairly used to this, the complete abandon of the outdoors during the winter months. His current project had been specifically tailored to countering his urge to curl up next to a fire all winter.

As the going got rougher, the young man fished his wand out of the inside of his robes and held it up above his head.

"Lumos!" He whispered quietly after a few seconds without words. A pale blue light blinked to life on the tip of the wand, illuminating the path before him. He had been trying since he had learned his first bit of magic to perform simple spells without speaking the proper words. He knew that, if this skill could be gained, he was one step closer to attempting magic without utilizing a wand - something that would make his life much easier.

He loved plants. Looking at them, experimenting with them, reading about them, watering them and, especially, watching them grow. Much of his work with plants involved some sort of magic. If could master the ability to perform some magic without his wand, it would leave him two free hands to dig through the soil and work with.

By the time the light from his wand finally touched the first bit of water, his boots were completely covered in mud. Their bright yellow color was difficult to even see beneath the dirty black and brown smudges. He made a mental note to clean them _before_  entering the Hufflepuff Commons.

Keegan knelt down and touched the water with the tip of his finger. It was icy - but not completely frozen all the way through. He frowned. The Shylock's he had planted would never grow if the lake wasn't going to harden completely. The small, blue flowers only grew under frozen water when left for several weeks. Then, once they were removed from the ice, they would sprout their vivid blue-and-purple petals. If you were lucky, instead of just the beautiful petals, you would also get something very special - glowing blue crystals sometimes grew right at the center of the flowering plant.

The boy pointed his beam of light into the water and saw that the Shylock seeds were still right where he had left him - magically suspended just a couple of feet beneath the surface of the water. Just deep enough that they could remain undisturbed throughout the winter, but close enough to the surface that he could keep an eye on them as they progressed. Just barely, he could make out a couple of surface cracks across the shells of a couple of seeds. They hadn't sprouted fully yet, but once the lake froze over completely it would only be a matter of days.

Keegan stood up, dusting his muddy hands against his pants and then slipping his wand back into his robe. He stood for a second and stretched - staring off across the beautiful lake. The one thing he did always love about the cold weather was the silence it brought to the school grounds. Usually, during the summer, you could hardly find a spot anywhere that wasn't within earshot of some sort of drama or gossip. The winter time was completely still and quiet, with some very rare exceptions.

As he finished yawning, the boy hard a small crackle in the grass behind him. He flinched and then whirled around, reaching for his wand. Before he could grasp it, a jagged black stone was smashed into the top of his head. As he collapsed to the ground in a whirlwind of colors, he saw that the rock was being held by an incredibly pale hand. As he tried to move his head enough to see the rest of his attacker's body, the rock came down onto his head again. This time, all Keegan saw was black.

 

* * *

 

When he awoke, Keegan had the distinct sensation of being trapped underneath something massive. Not as if it's weight was placed upon him, physically - though he didn't feel great physically, either. More that a huge, dark presence loomed over him.

Gnarled ropes bound his forearms together uncomfortably behind his back. His feet were drawn up and similarly tied. The rope felt strong, but seemed to be made of a rotted, ancient material. They were damp and covered in a dull gray moss.

He was sitting on a rock in some sort of cave. Something that seemed to be part man-made and part natural occurrence. Some of it's edges were the wild, unpredictable outlines of rough rock - solid, but clearly formed through thousands and thousands of years of movement. Others appeared to be smoothed, straighter - they looked as if they had been carved into place.

There were plenty of other man-made things, as well. A couple of small wooden chairs, crudely carved and clearly ancient. A dim but functioning lantern creaked slightly as it rocked back and forth on it's hook. Both lamp and hook looked as if they had been carved out of the same rock the rest of the cave had been, thousands of years earlier. There was no sign of what was causing the gentle rocking. No breeze flowed through from either of the gigantic, endless hallways. The cave somehow felt both claustrophobic and vast at the same time.

The boy shivered. He had barely noticed, while taking in everything around him, that he was wet. Every article of clothing was completely saturated and dripping. Wherever he was, it was not any warmer than the harsh February temperatures outside had been. He wondered if his clothing would begin freezing to his skin.

An aching, dizzying buzz entered Keegan's mind and soon it was all he could concentrate on. His shivering grew less intense as his focus drifted away from the temperature and more to the piercing, blinding pain behind his eyes. He could not move his hands to check, but he knew his head was likely badly cut open. He thought he could feel the remnants of fresh blood drying into his platinum blonde hair.

Steps echoed from somewhere behind him, but Keegan had no way to turn and investigate. As the pain in his head reached new extremes and his eyes began to cross, he realized that he likely would be unable to see even if he were facing the proper direction. He tried to slump forward from his position to the floor, but was unable to shift his weight enough. It felt as though his arm restraints were tied to the wall behind him.

"Stop moving." A bent, angry voice spoke from the unknown with authority. A second later, someone grabbed him by the hair from behind. His head was pulled back until he was staring through the white hot pain into the ceiling above him.

Keegan stared into the darkness above him, his jaw locked and teeth grinding to keep from crying out. He was beginning to feel dizzy. Suddenly, a pale face moved forward, so close that it blocked out most the cave around them. What looked like a bearded skeleton was standing over him, staring. He almost screamed before he realized that it was only a man - a very skinny man.

The man stared down at him with crystal blue eyes, so light that they almost appeared solid white for a second. He had an unkempt black beard that was speckled all over with hints of grey. The right side of his face had a long, thick scar across it, as if some sort of thick border was marked across a map.

"It was just a little bump on the head. Barely a scratch." The man began tapping a wand against Keegan's forehead, as if it were a drum stick. The boy wriggled and tried to pull his head from the man's grasp, but his hair was caught firmly. He grit his teeth and shifted them against each other roughly.

The wound on his head began to grow extremely warm. The pain did not stop, but it somehow felt to him like something was moving across the cut. It felt almost as if the skin was rearranging itself. The wound began to sting as if it were being hit by an increasingly strong breeze. The spread apart pieces of broken skin seemed to be lacing themselves back together.

"You're healing me." As soon as the boy said the words, his pain level dropped dramatically. He felt a tickle as whatever blood had dried to his face grew wet again and began to crawl back up his face.

"Of course I am. I can't bring you to Grindelwald all scuffed up and damaged. He'd kill me. Hell, he'd do worse." The men's breath was hot and smelled awful - like everything inside him was decaying and being expelled from his mouth with every word. He stepped back and looked Keegan over, seeming to size up his head repair, a thoughtful hand stroking his beard.

Even with his head put back together properly, the situation was overwhelming to the boy. He recognized the name, but did not knew where from. It did not seem to stir particularly positive connotations in his mind - but nothing specific. Certainly nothing that had anything to do with him.

"What are you talking about? Who are you? Where are we?" Keegan didn't know what, precisely, was going on. He did know that he wanted to be as far away from the man in front of him and the place they stood as he possibly could get.

The man laughed - a quick, painful-sounding bark. He slipped his wand back into the tattered brown robes he wore and withdrew a small wooden smoking pipe. He puffed it a couple of times - it seemed to light up on it's own - and exhaled. The smoke had a thick, sweet aroma to it. Keegan had never been fond of the smell of smoke, but this seemed a little more pleasant than most.

"Too many questions out of you, boy. Probably best if I let the big man answer most of those. How 'bout you just sit back and enjoy the fact that I fixed that big ol' hole in your head, would you?" The bearded man leaned forward and tapped Keegan on the skull, hard, right where the wound had been. The boy flinched but no wave of pain washed over him. It stun just like a quick knock to the head would hurt anywhere else. He was healed.

"I've got a few other things to do. You wont go anywhere, will you? Oh that's right, you're tied up." The man took another long puff from his pipe and turned away from his prisoner, "Besides, there ain't too many places to go down here."

"Down here?" Keegan suddenly wanted his captor to stay with him, more than anything. He did not like the idea of being alone again, wherever they were. He could not feel has wand anywhere, and the thought of being restrained in the dim, wet cave with no way to defend himself did not sound promising. He didn't like the bearded man at all, but he was better than something mysterious crawling out of the dark.

"Down here! It's been decades since anyone has been here at all. Most of those that knew about it are dead. Yes, you're down here all right," The man slipped his pipe back into his robes and turned back towards the young boy, wiping a grimy blackened hand his across right eye as he did. He smiled brightly - a toothless, terrible smile that revealed a mouth full of rot. He seemed very excited to continue.

"Under the Black Lake!"

And with that, the bearded skeleton man marched off into the darkness.


End file.
